"Hey!"

"Oh, don't let your ego get out of control. I'm talking about my coming down here. The contest-not... not... " She swept her hands toward the bed. "Not this. This was great. Although I was stupid to have come here tonight. Equally stupid for falling for that slick charm of yours."

Jack snorted as he stiffened defensively. "I'm glad I rose to meet your expectations in at least one area."

"Exceeded them, actually. But I should never have come here. What would it look like for one of the contest sponsors to be s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g one of the contestants? I should just call this whole thing off and take my punishment for having ever instigated this mess!"

Jack grabbed the towel he'd been wearing when he first saw her and wrapped it about his waist. "Where are you goin'?"

"Back to my cabin! Maybe I'll give myself a facial, take up smoking. Anything's better than feeling rotten."

"Wait a minute. I'll walk you back to your cabin."

"You'll do no such thing! I don't want anybody seeing us together with you dressed like that! What if your grandmother were to see us?"

"Mimi knows I'm not celibate."

"Well, she doesn't know anything about me, and I don't want her getting the wrong impression."

Jack's fingers clenched and unclenched as he tried to reason with her.

"You got b.a.l.l.s, lady. You come down here and bully me into entering this contest of yours, and then you become bashful at the thought that mah grandmere or the other campers would think we had s.e.x? Why does everything always have to be on your terms?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do. You think it's okay for you to write about... canoeing, for one thing, even though you've never done it."

"So take me canoeing!" She turned to stare at him. "For Pete's sake, take me!"

"That a challenge?"

"Sure. If you can take it, so can I. Turnabout is fair play-that's what you're wanting, isn't it?"

"I had no expectations from you-you're the one with the expectations."

"Really? Then why is it you keep throwing it up in my face that I've written some d.a.m.ned piece about the river yet never been on it? Maybe I'm volunteering to go because I just want to shut you up!"

Marilyn fought the tears that threatened to fall. Twenty-four hours ago, she'd have agreed with him, that she was expecting a lot from him without ever having met him. But now, all she wanted to was to reach a solid footing with him. To give as much as she got. To get to know him better.

But he had to spoil things by putting her on the defensive. And all she'd wanted to tell him was that she wanted to be near him. Well...and that that she couldn't sleep with him anymore until after the contest. Not if she was to be a part of the contest in any capacity. Especially with her father or her uncle visiting and possibly seeing them together.

But no. He obviously didn't want her with him. Probably didn't trust her as much as he trusted Chuck to get him through the contest.

"Okay. I'll take you down the river tomorrow morning."

"Morning?"

"Sure. We'll get an early start before the heat sets in. Have your swimsuit and river clothes on, and I'll meet you outside about six. If you think you can haul your city b.u.t.t outta bed that early."

"Fine." She met his gaze with a smirk.

"Fine."

"Fine!" she shouted as she turned to leave.

"And don't slam that... "

Bam!

"...door."

Jack rubbed his chin thoughtfully, wondering just what he'd said to p.i.s.s her off to the point that she'd leave his bed in the middle of the night.

Then he leaned against the pillows, his arms crossed behind his head. He liked this one... really, really liked her. How long should he prolong her discomfort, letting her believe they were all royally f.u.c.ked? Granted, his repertoire of cooking talents was limited, but he could bail them out of this if he set his mind to it. He just wasn't sure he wanted to at this point.

Chapter Ten.

Homemade Moisturizer Ingredients: 1 tablespoon lavender essential oil 5 tablespoons vegetable glycerine 1 cup distilled water Shake in a small spritzer and apply.

Marilyn sat on her patio wrapped in a lightweight blanket, a cheesy smile creasing her face.

Let the arrogant Jackson Delacroix think she didn't know how to canoe. What he didn 't know was that she was an expert at kayaking and almost equally adept at canoeing. Since she was twelve years old, she'd rowed innumerable miles across an inlet of the Atlantic where she'd lived on the East Coast. So while a canoe and a kayak were two different animals, she couldn't wait to see Jackson's smug smile disappear into the river as she flipped the canoe with him in it and gave him a soaking. Even though she'd soak herself as well, even if she managed to roll the canoe while remaining inside it, just the thought of giving Jackson his comeuppance tickled her funny bone.

Too bad he'd most likely call off their day's adventure since it was raining.

Her ringing cell phone inside reminded her that she hadn't spoken with her father since arriving in Oklahoma.

"You're up early," she said into the phone.

"Couldn't sleep," came Sam O'Malley's gruff reply. "Your uncle and I thought we'd see how things were moving at your end."

Marilyn bit back a laugh before answering. "Oh, my...end...has been moving just fine, Daddy." She quickly updated him, leaving out specific details.

"So are you impressed with our author?" he asked.

"Immensely. He's quite... talented. Very charming."

"Handsome?"

"Very. But don't go there."

"Hmph. I've seen the way you study the photos on his jacket copies. At least Colette is there to keep an eye on you."

Marilyn closed her eyes, counting to ten as her father reverted to treating her as though she were still a kid.

"You're still my little girl," he told her. "You'll have to forgive me if I'm still a bit overprotective."

"Is that why you offered me the job?" she asked.

"To keep an eye on you? Certainly. But also to have you near me. I've missed you."

The hackles that had risen died a quick death when she heard that, so she relaxed during the rest of their conversation as the two of them finalized her father's travel plans.

"Daddy... Can I ask you something before we hang up?"

"Sure."

When Marilyn didn't immediately continue, he asked her what was wrong.

"Nothing, really. I'm... oh, it's probably stupid."

Sam coaxed, "Does this have something to do with our elusive author?"

"Yeah. He said-oh, d.a.m.n." Did she really want to drag out last night's conversation with Jack? Could she? Without giving away the circ.u.mstances? "Do you think I'm controlling?"

She squeezed her eyes shut in regretful antic.i.p.ation before he answered.

"You were chosen first whenever you and your friends would play sports," her father replied. "Even over the boys. You were president of your graduating cla.s.s, a reporter for your college newspaper, graduated in the top ten percent of your cla.s.s. I'd say that calls for leadership."

"But... does everything always have to be my way?"

"I think with you being so young when your mother died and that with me expecting so much of you from the time you were nine years old... Yeah. I think you tend to be bossy. But not in a bad way. I think you've just been given a lot of responsibility and that you tend to make everyone's decisions for them now and then without giving them a chance to do things for themselves."

"Did I do that to you?" she asked anxiously.

"No, sweetheart. My problems are my own."

Typical, Marilyn thought. Her father was always reluctant to voice an opinion but would give it when asked... and then not follow up questioning why she'd asked something-which was pretty sweet.

"Am I obnoxious about it?" she asked.

"Quite the contrary. You're quite engaging. You have such energy, such devotion to your causes... it's difficult not to get swept away with you once you get your teeth into something."

"Thanks, Dad." She hesitated before asking, "So how's Dave treating you these days?"

She could imagine her father shrugging and choosing his words carefully.

"You know your uncle. He still likes to throw it up to me that he has more invested in the company now than I do. That he could buy me out at any time if I lose money for the company."

Anger at her uncle's insensitivity flooded her. Her dad had mortgaged his home, sold stock and taken out loans against his share of the business when her mother had taken ill, and he'd been paying for it ever since. Dave was so materialistic and fond of the compet.i.tion with his younger brother that poor Sam couldn't seem to get a break.

"Hang in there, Dad. I know you have a lot of faith resting on Jackson Delacroix. He' ll pull through for you."

"He doesn't have to win the d.a.m.n contest, you know?"

"I know. He just has to make a good showing. You and Colette are the ones who reeled him in to the company, and Dave is the one who latched on to Robert Neal. Of course Dave hopes his chef is the best man."

Sam chuckled. "Wouldn't break my heart if ole Jack kicked the c.r.a.p out of both of them."

Marilyn agreed. But as Sam said, it didn't matter if Jack won the contest or not. What mattered was that he showed up for it.

"You didn't tell him about Jack?" Colette asked once Marilyn called her to relate the conversation.

"No-o-o! He doesn't have a clue. As far as he knows, Jackson is a master chef."

Marilyn related bits and pieces of the conversation she'd had with Jack the night before.

"He basically said I'm only happy when things are going my way," Marilyn complained. "Why didn't you tell me if I'm that controlling?"

"Because you are my boss... and my friend. And you are the one in charge in every situation we're in at work. You're not that way when it's just girl stuff... if we go to lunch or a movie. We don't always go where you want to go or watch what you choose-you' re very giving as a friend. Of course, I can't say what you're like in bed, obviously."

The brief silence at the other end of the line made Marilyn uneasy. "Okay, before you ask..." she told Colette, "I can hear the question in your mind from here...yes, I slept with him. And he p.i.s.sed me off, so I left early. How about you?"

"Well, by now you know I didn't spend the night in our cabin. Think maybe we've discovered something Chuck isn't allergic to-s.e.x!"

Marilyn groaned. "I have never known either of us to tumble into a man's bed this early in the game. Must be the river nymphs bewitching us all."

The two women giggled and spent the next five minutes commiserating about men. Suddenly, Marilyn heard a small cough outside her cabin and peered through the bedroom window.

"Jackson is up," she told Colette. "And he's standing on his front porch."

"What are you wearing?"

"Tank top, light jacket, jeans, sneakers."

"Which ones-jeans I mean?"

"The tight black ones."

"Those look good on you. Work it, girl!"

Oklahoma weather was definitely female if gender could be a.s.signed to natural elements. Seductive, sa.s.sy, unpredictable and ever-changing. Not that Jack had ever been one to subscribe to meteorologists' predictions. Still, it would be nice now and then to rely on them.

The rain slashed through the trees in torrents for nearly an hour before dawn. Then as quickly as the thunderstorm struck, it disintegrated, leaving in its wake a sky full of soft gray clouds that mostly obscured the sunlight and a light but steady rain.

Jack heard the cabin door a few yards away from him open and close.